


Dynamic Symmetry

by dracoqueen22



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, Multi, Plug and Play, Pre-Canon, Tactile, Threesome - M/M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-06
Updated: 2012-08-06
Packaged: 2017-11-11 13:09:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracoqueen22/pseuds/dracoqueen22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orion fantasizes. Dreadwing plots. Skyquake indulges. And Megatronus incites. Much fun is had by all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dynamic Symmetry

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally intended for tf-rare-pairings weekly challenge. The prompt was Dreadwing/Optimus/Skyquake "what used to be" but I couldn't get my muses to make it work like that. So instead, I missed the prompt by several miles.

The first time Megatronus introduced him to the pair of Seeker twins, Orion Pax's engines gave a mortifying rev of interest.  
  
Megatronus laughed, clapping Orion on the shoulder with one massive and taloned servo, complimenting him on his good taste.  
  
Dreadwing looked amused; Skyquake remained neutral.  
  
Orion apologized profusely, embarrassed by his knee-jerk reaction.  
  
Dreadwing waved him off. “You're hardly the first,” he said dryly.  
  
Of that, Orion had no doubts.  
  
They were beautiful and strong, striking examples of military design and Orion wanted so badly to touch them. He couldn't remember wanting another mech as much as his sudden desire for Skyquake and Dreadwing. Not even his admiration for Megatronus came close.  
  
Orion kept his desires to himself. Neither twin seemed interested in any mech other than Megatronus for which Orion could hardly fault them for. What would a mere librarian have that could compare to a gladiator as strong and charismatic as Megatronus?  
  
Orion learned to keep fierce control of his reactions and never again suffered an embarrassing response in their presence. He remained professional, all the while longing for even a small taste.  
  
They were such large mechs, their frames broader and taller than his own. He longed to be pressed between them, drowned by their dizzying energy fields, completely overwhelmed. Surely such long, taloned digits could reach into the most sensitive nooks and crannies of Orion's frame.  
  
What must it be like, he wondered, to be connected to the both of them? Trapped in the middle of a feedback loop, every pulse of pleasure doubled, driving him mad with need.  
  
Dreadwing seemed the type to tease. To drag out the pleasure, make a mech beg for every pulse of charge.  
  
Orion trembled at the thought.  
  
And Skyquake! Surely that reserved demeanor housed a mech full of passion!  
  
Perhaps he would be the one to restrain Orion while Dreadwing mercilessly teased him to overload.  
  
Orion wanted to touch them, trace the powerful lines of their frames. He wanted to taste their wings and imagine the pleasure of flight. Perhaps taste the galaxy in the star dust on their armor.  
  
The fantasies were distracting. They occupied his thoughts at the most inappropriate times despite knowing they would never come to pass.  
  
Orion never vocalized his interest nor so much as hinted to it. He didn't dare. Other matters always seemed of greater importance and he suspected he didn't have a chance in the Pit anyway.  
  
Until the party.  
  
The reason for celebration never seemed important to Orion. Megatronus was celebrating yet another gladiatorial victory in a long stream of them so Orion assumed the party was an ongoing representation of Megatronus' sheer dominance in the ring. Of course, this made more and more mechs flock to their cause. Even the Council was starting to take notice of what Orion and Megatronus were stirring.  
  
Perhaps, in that, lay a reason to celebrate as well.  
  
Nevertheless, Orion tried to beg off attendance. He wasn't a mech for parties, or large gatherings of large, boisterous Cybertronians. But Megatronus insisted.  
  
“It was for the good of the cause,” Megatronus claimed.  
  
Orion relented. He could see, in a tangential way, how his presence at this party might do some good. Not as much as retreating to his quarters and plotting out the next course of action, but still useful.  
  
Orion also tried to avoid the high grade. His systems weren't calibrated to process the unrefined sludge the gladiators could chug down by the gallon.  
  
Rife with impurities, thick and still crunchy from unprocessed energon crystals, the so-called high grade was vile stuff.  
  
Megatronus pushed a cube into Orion's servos despite all of his protests otherwise.  
  
“Just one cube,” Megatronus insisted. “You must show our followers that you're more than just a librarian.”  
  
Orion peered doubtfully into the cube. But I am just a librarian. He didn't like the violently dark color of the energon, interspersed with dull gleams of energon crystals.  
  
Nevertheless, Megatronus was correct.  
  
Orion gulped down his first taste of the high grade, crushing the unprocessed energon with his denta.  
  
The taste was very unpleasant, the energon crystals sharp and burning on his glossa. His tanks gurgled but Orion didn't dare purge. His reputation depended on it.  
  
Megatronus grinned with a mouthful of sharpened denta – a necessity for his matches in the arena – and slapped a large servo across Orion's dorsal plating.  
  
“Now try to have fun!” Megatronus demanded, static lacing his words and his energy field uneven from his own copious amounts of high grade.  
  
Orion nodded, clutched his half-consumed cube, and pondered the soonest moment he could leave. He knew so few of the mechs here and this rowdy bunch of gladiators was very foreign to him. It was noisy and boisterous and most of them towered over Orion by several helms. Others were bulkier than him, bristling with weaponry.  
  
He felt very, very small.  
  
Orion drank the high grade out of self-preservation and a lack of anything else to do to pass the time. He watched his fellow Cybertronians as they celebrated. A few mechs had started up some kind of betting game in the corner. Others had dragged themselves onto a makeshift dance floor that to Orion's optics, looked more like a form of deranged interfacing. That gold mech in particular, writhing with another mech in blue and black, looked two kliks away from whipping out his cables.  
  
And then Megatronus wandered off with a slim Seeker who designated himself Starscream and Orion was left alone.  
  
Perhaps now he could leave without insulting someone? No mech appeared to be paying Orion any mind and Megatronus was no longer here to protest.  
  
Decision made, Orion swept his gaze through the crowded room, seeking the exit. He couldn't seem to access his navigational systems. Actually, a lot of his systems were currently offline. Curious.  
  
Walking, it seemed, was quite the challenge.  
  
Orion's gyros wobbled as he took first one step and then another, his motion commands misfiring one right after the other.  
  
Primus there was a reason he should not have consumed that high grade.  
  
Orion stumbled again, his faceplates heating with humiliation. This was no way to make an impression. His only consolation was that no mech seemed to be paying him two processing patterns worth of attention.  
  
Someone grabbed his left arm out of nowhere, steadying him.  
  
“Having some trouble, are we?”  
  
Orion's entire frame flushed with heat. He would know those vocal tones anywhere. They'd been haunting his recharge and his fantasies.  
  
“It would appear that the ground is not as stable as it looks,” Orion said, an abashed grin curling his mouthplates.  
  
Dreadwing laughed, a rumble that traveled straight to Orion's chassis and vibrated him to his very core. His knees wobbled, energy field surging with pent-up desire.  
  
“They call it high grade.” Dreadwing's own field flared with amusement, washing over Orion warmly, perhaps even with invitation.  
  
Or was that the high grade hoping?  
  
“I call it an utter miscalculation,” Orion retorted and flushed again.  
  
Dreadwing was still holding his arm. Part of Orion's attention seemed focused on that little detail, a detail amongst so many. The contrast of their paint colors was fascinating. His processor was spinning.  
  
Orion held a servo to his helm, which felt much too small for all his thoughts. He watched, avid, as Dreadwing adjusted his grip.  
  
Orion's engine gave an audible purr. How embarrassing.  
  
“I think, my friend, that you should retire to a berth,” Dreadwing said.  
  
“I think you are right.”  
  
Never again would he touch that vile sludge!  
  
But... his quarters were a sector and a long drive away. A drive Orion suspected he was in no condition to attempt.  
  
Orion wobbled, conflicted, the beat of the music pulsing through his thoughts and his frame. Completely distracting.  
  
“It is also my opinion that you require some assistance,” Dreadwing continued, still with mild amusement. “Allow me.”  
  
He tugged; Orion followed as though a medic had switched on his auto-navs without his knowledge.  
  
“Oh, but...”  
  
“I insist.” Dreadwing's vocals rumbled with amusement still. “Megatronus would be displeased if I allowed his dear partner to recharge on the streets.”  
  
Orion's meager hope deflated.  
  
He should have known. If not for Megatronus, Dreadwing would not have bothered.  
  
He stopped protesting and meekly followed Dreadwing through the packed crowd to the exit, which was almost hidden by the bulk of the clustered, inebriated mechs.  
  
Led. Like a newspark. How humiliating. Even more so when his pedes refused to cooperate, tripping on invisible obstacles and making Dreadwing clutch him all the tighter.  
  
To add to Orion's humiliation, Skyquake was waiting for them at the door.  
  
“Leaving early, brother?” he asked, clutching a large cube of that dense, awful high grade. He didn't offer to share.  
  
“Megatronus' celebrations do get tedious after one too many,” Dreadwing replied.  
  
Skyquake arched an orbital ridge, leaning aside to scan Orion from the tip of his helm to the blunt edge of his pede. “And you've picked up a stray, too.”  
  
Orion attempted to tug his arm free of Dreadwing's claw, if only to save his dignity, but the military mech did not so much as budge.  
  
“I can find my own berth from there, thank you,” Orion said loudly, both to be heard over the music and the crowd, and to get the attention of the two brothers.  
  
They ignored him.  
  
“But brother,” Dreadwing said, his vocals a soft purr, “it is only polite to take care of one of our own. For Megatronus, of course.”  
  
“Of course,” Skyquake drawled and gestured Dreadwing ahead of him with a taloned servo. “Carry on.”  
  
Orion expected Skyquake to remain behind, rejoin the celebration. Instead, the green twin fell into step behind them, following Orion and Dreadwing into the much quieter and less crowded hallway.  
  
“This isn't necessary,” Orion protested.  
  
It wasn't. Really. His helm seemed much clearer now. His legs weren't quite so wobbly. He could make his way home he was reasonably sure of it.  
  
And Orion certainly didn't want to be some kind of charity case. He'd prefer to keep his dignity intact, thank you very much.  
  
Skyquake muttered something behind Orion, causing Dreadwing to look over his shoulder spar, casting his twin a long, measured look.  
  
“Really,” Orion insisted when neither seemed inclined to listen to him.  
  
But then, his tank chose to give an ominous rumble. His optics swam with static. He lurched forward.  
  
A second arm caught him, plated in olivine green this time, hooking around his abdominal array and easily supporting his weight.  
  
“What's...?” Orion's vocalizer crackled, leaving his question half-asked and adding to his confusion.  
  
“Has a kick, doesn't it?” Skyquake remarked, talons hooking in the plates of Orion's abdominal array. “That's what happens when the crystals start to dissolve.”  
  
“Most mechs like it,” Dreadwing added with a shrug of his shoulder armor. “But I got the feeling you aren't like most mechs.”  
  
No, he surely wasn't. Because Orion felt as though he were going to purge, if only to clear his tanks of the awful sensation. Mechs sought to feel this disorientated on purpose?  
  
Orion wobbled. “I...” His vocalizer malfunctioned again, spitting static. He couldn't seem to access his personal comm either.  
  
Overheat warnings flashed in his CPU. He swayed. His optics streaked with white noise as his pedes threatened to slip out from under him. Any worse and Skyquake would end up carrying him!  
  
His tank flipflopped, each dissolved crystal sending a surge of discombobulating heat through his systems.  
  
“I think I'm going to purge,” Orion warned.  
  
And then he did, doubling over as his intakes became outtakes, expelling every last sludgy drop of high grade onto the floor. Orion thought it would ease his systems. Instead, he felt substantially worse.  
  
“What a lightweight,” he heard Skyquake say.  
  
Orion's vision danced with bright spots. And then it all went dark. Thank Primus.  
  
o0o0o  
  
Orion onlined very slowly, with much reluctance. Memories of his abominable behavior joors earlier ensured he had no eagerness to online his optics.  
  
His scanners and sensors were a suitable substitute.  
  
He could hear rhythmic ex-venting, that of a mech deep in recharge. Also, Orion's own plating was unusually warm. Perhaps a consequence of his indulgence in the high grade?  
  
Where was he?  
  
Last his memory banks recalled with clarity was stumbling down a hallway before he purged. On Skyquake's pedes.  
  
Oh, no.  
  
Orion cautiously onlined his optics. All he could see was the broad expanse of dark blue plating. A very familiar shade.  
  
He came fully alert, ignoring the ache of overcharge in his circuits, faceplates overheating in remembered embarrassment.  
  
Did he...?  
  
Had they...?  
  
“If you're wondering whether we've interfaced, we haven't. Yet.”  
  
Skyquake's vocals spilled into the room from behind Orion, accompanied by an amused pulse in his formerly quiescent energy field.  
  
Orion's engines hitched.  
  
“Yet?”  
  
A servo landed on his pelvic arch with a tentative brush of talons, as though waiting for a protest or an invitation.  
  
“Did you honestly think we would take advantage of an overcharged mech?”  
  
To be honest, Orion hadn't known what to expect. He hadn't thought for one klik that Skyquake or Dreadwing would express an interest in him either.  
  
“I... uh...”  
  
“Stop teasing him, Skyquake.” Dreadwing's purr cut into the conversation as he turned on the berth, facing Orion now. “It's impolite.”  
  
“I wasn't teasing,” Skyquake retorted, a talon sliding into a gap in Orion's plating and teasing a sensitive wire buried beneath. “I was extending an invitation.”  
  
Orion's engine revved before he could stop himself, energy field flaring with anticipation, ridiculously enthusiastic anticipation.  
  
“One it seems he's inclined to accept,” Skyquake added.  
  
Orion shuddered, pressing back against Skyquake, feeling the hum and click of the Seeker's systems vibrate against his dorsal plating.  
  
“Is that true?” Dreadwing asked, leaning forward, the look in his optics positively predatory. “Are you interested, Orion Pax?”  
  
He rebooted his vocalizer. Twice.  
  
“Primus,” Orion moaned as Skyquake's digits stroked an enticing path down a hydraulic line, tracing it to his knee juncture and tickling the back of the joint. “Don't stop.”  
  
“I think that's a yes, brother,” Skyquake said, and pressed against Orion from behind, heat emanating from his armor. “Yes?”  
  
“Yes,” Orion replied, pleasure dancing down his spinal strut.  
  
His servos reached out, eager to touch, tracing the strong lines of Dreadwing's armor, knocking with a fine tink against the material of his front sensory panel. Orion hooked his blunt digits in Dreadwing's chestplate, trying to drag the Seeker closer.  
  
“So bold,” Dreadwing said, helm rubbing against Orion's, his mouth components latching onto a finial. “Are all grounders like you?”  
  
“I wouldn't know,” Orion replied, heat cascading through his frame in frantic bursts, systems pinging him with desires to make a connection.  
  
Skyquake's engines rumbled behind him, digits of one hand finding and tracing Orion's ancillary interface panel, located on his right hip. “Don't mind him. We enjoy trying new things.”  
  
Orion was torn.  
  
He wanted more. But to be reduced to a mere toy? Would one interface be enough for him?  
  
Or was he thinking too much again?  
  
Dreadwing's glossa flicked against his finial with a burr of static electricity and Orion moaned, frame arching between the twins, as he'd always imagined. Charge licked across his circuits, dancing a crawling pleasure through his frame.  
  
Dreadwing wasn't done.  
  
His mouth trekked lower, glossa snaking over Orion's neck cables, even as Skyquake flicked open the hatch of Orion's interface. His talon scraped over the connection port, taunting Orion with a pleasure sure to come.  
  
Scrap. If one was all he was going to get then Orion was frag well going to enjoy himself!  
  
He wriggled his digits into Dreadwing's armor gaps, stroking over sensitive wires. Orion loosed his energy field, flaring a strong surge of eager desire across both Seekers.  
  
Dreadwing groaned. “Keep that up and none of us will last.”  
  
“Maybe that's what he wants,” Skyquake said with a sudden surge of action, sitting up and leaning against the wall parallel to the berth.  
  
He pulled Orion with him, easily manipulating Orion's smaller frame to his liking.  
  
Orion, for his part, allowed the mechhandling, arousal dictating that Skyquake could do whatever he liked so long as the pleasure kept coming.  
  
“Is that it, grounder?” Skyquake asked as he draped Orion over him, Orion straddling Skyquake's legs and leaning back against the green Seeker's chassis.  
  
This left Orion helplessly exposed and open to Dreadwing, who admired the new position with optics burning a lustful crimson.  
  
“You want to lose control?” Skyquake purred in Orion's audial, his servos resting on Orion's pelvic array, tightening and loosening his grip teasingly.  
  
Arousal warred with embarrassment. Orion arched back against Skyquake, the slow scrape of their plating creating an intoxicating vibration that echoed through his frame. His servos clutched at Skyquake as one of the Seeker's talons explored the dips and curves of his lightly armored frame.  
  
“You two make quite the enticing scene,” Dreadwing observed, his servos landing on his brother's knees, within inches of Orion's thighs.  
  
Orion squirmed, cooling fans kicking on with a loud roar of suppressed heat. Coolant circulated faster through him, but not fast enough.  
  
He didn't know what to do with his own servos. He wanted to touch Dreadwing and demand Skyquake do more with his exploring digits and Orion just didn't have enough servos of his own!  
  
He moaned, helm knocking back against Skyquake's chestplate.  
  
Dreadwing's helm dipped, exventing warmth over Orion's thigh, his glossa teasing and tickling. Orion twitched, watching the slow exploration with wide optics. His ventilations stuttered.  
  
Skyquake's taloned digit skittered over Orion's interface port again, and Orion leaned toward the questing digit.  
  
“Please,” he urged, vocalizer crackling from loss of control.  
  
Skyquake chuckled, vocalizations vibrating against Orion's dorsal plating. “You asked so nicely, how can I resist?”  
  
Dreadwing's laugh echoed with his twin's.  
  
Orion should have been mortified at his own eagerness but such thoughts bled away in the wake of Dreadwing's relentless glossa. Now dipping into plating gaps at his hip and thigh, where flexible cabling gave him unique articulation and, apparently, sensitive pelvic components.  
  
And then Skyquake's cable snapped into Orion's port, a surge of electric pleasure lashing through Orion. He arched, spasming against Skyquake, crying out a wordless plea. His neural net flashed with heat.  
  
Skyquake's servos were heavy weights on Orion's hips, keeping him pinned against the green Seeker. The one-way connection ensured Orion was the sole benefactor of Skyquake's buzzing pleasure. It throbbed in Orion's systems with crest after crest of ecstasy.  
  
“Are you going to play all orn, brother, or are you going to participate?” Skyquake purred.  
  
Dreadwing mouthed a path up Orion's abdominal array. “You have no patience.”  
  
Static licked over Orion's plating, lighting up the room with bright surges of pale blue. His cooling fans hummed into overdrive.  
  
Skyquake took an audial into his mouth, nibbling on it.  
  
Orion moaned.  
  
“You both have no patience,” Dreadwing corrected himself and lifted his helm, mouthing at the join of Orion's neck and helm.  
  
Cables slithered between them. Orion clutched at Dreadwing, dragging the Seeker against his chassis, grounding himself against the onslaught of pleasure that poured over him.  
  
Dreadwing's cable slammed home into Orion's second port, completing the circuit. The twins groaned in unison, three energy fields pulsing in discordant sync that somehow amplified the heat streaking through Orion's sensors.  
  
His vision whited, focus turned inward, mouth opened. His spark whirled, thumping within his chamber, tendrils fighting at the confines as though eager to taste either of the twins. Orion's thoughts lacked coherency, reduced to a garbled plea for more, harder, faster.  
  
Dreadwing and Skyquake obliged, working in an eerie sync that drove Orion to new heights. He felt disconnected from his frame, floating on an electrical current.  
  
Dreadwing pushed.  
  
Skyquake pulled.  
  
They shoved heat and passion all at once, flooding Orion's datastreams with memory files of past overloads and erotic encounters.  
  
They withdrew together, leaving him aching, his frame large and full. Straining behind the confines of his plating. Protoform trembling.  
  
Orion keened, energy field rising thickly and lashing over both of them, demanding more.  
  
Ecstasy danced a sharp staccato through his sensor net. Charge licked over his frame, leaping between him and Dreadwing, surging against Skyquake behind.  
  
Skyquake shoved his pleasure at Orion, who in turn doubled it, pushing it out at Dreadwing, who bundled it all together and sent it back at his twin. They were all overheated now, the sound of three cooling fans a white noise at the back of Orion's processor.  
  
“More,” Orion croaked as taloned fingers nicked at sensory lines. He wasn't even sure who they belonged to anymore.  
  
“Harder,” Orion begged.  
  
He arched up, grabbing blindly, dragging Dreadwing against him with a strength he didn't know he possessed. Their chestplates collided and Orion swore he could feel the powerful throb of Dreadwing's spark energy. It seemed to pulse a greeting, Orion's own spark surging in eager invitation, and behind him, Skyquake's spark vibrating in his chassis as if calling to his twin.  
  
Orion moaned, writhing between them, cables hot and pulled taut, spitting blue arcs into the air. He could taste scorched circuits, his systems cycling higher and higher.  
  
“Do it,” Dreadwing rasped, his vocalizer rumbling directly into Orion's audial.  
  
“Overload,” Skyquake insisted, perched at Orion's other audial, their vocals completely surrounding him.  
  
“Now,” they demanded in perfect unison.  
  
Their vocals merged as one, different but complementary, the perfect frequency to resonate straight through Orion's chestplate and to his core. He arched, mouth opened in a silent cry as his overload tore though his systems. It scorched his sensory net, made his spark surge hot and bright, servos clenching down hard enough to dent.  
  
On the edge of his awareness, he heard Dreadwing and Skyquake roar, dragged by the force of his overload. Skyquake's talons gripped with the sound of crumpling metal.  
  
Warnings popped up, loud and obnoxious. Overheating. Errors.  
  
His HUD spat readings at him. Orion ignored them all, surrendering to the pull of his spark.  
  
o0o0o  
  
Orion onlined with a groan, a strut-deep ache throbbing through his frame. The stale sensation of high grade overcharge was gone at least, but he still felt like the Pit.  
  
His optics snapped open, only to cycle back down at the blinding overhead lights.  
  
A cube of low grade, glowing a dim ultramarine, appeared in front of his optics.  
  
“Here. You're going to need this.”  
  
Orion sat up, accepting the offer. His tanks were dry. He could also do with a few gallons of coolant.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Skyquake smirked. “You don't interface much, do you?”  
  
Orion nearly choked on his cube. “I... had other things to do.”  
  
“You should know how unhealthy that is, a smart mech like you.”  
  
Dreadwing appeared in the doorway, a cube in each servo.  
  
Orion's faceplaes heated. “I'll keep that in mind.” He clutched his cube, squirming, until curiosity got the best of him. “If I might ask, how did you...?”  
  
“Hit the right frequency?” Dreadwing asked, handing his twin one of the two cubes. “That's our little secret.”  
  
“Neat trick, isn't it?” Skyquake said and hauled himself off the berth.  
  
“Very.” Orion contemplated doing the same, but his frame wasn't quite up to the task. Instead, he drank his energon, feeling Awkward creep into the room on the swift wings of high grade aftercharge.  
  
Skyquake and Dreadwing got the look of mechs conversing over private comm through Orion couldn't detect any transmission.  
  
Skyquake ground a few internal gears together.  
  
Dreadwing smirked.  
  
Skyquake punched his twin on the shoulder, then strode from the room. In his absence, Dreadwing plopped down on the berth next to Orion.  
  
He wondered if it would be impolite to ask.  
  
“You aren't very subtle, you know.”  
  
Orion hid behind his cube. “I beg your pardon?”  
  
“We knew you were watching. But like everyone else, we thought Megatronus had staked a claim.” Dreadwing gulped down his cube, crunching the empty container with one squeeze of his fist.  
  
Orion's optics spiraled outward as he lowered his own empty cube. “He... I don't...” A claim?  
  
Dreadwing chuckled.”Oh, we figured that out pretty quick once he walked out with that Seeker.”  
  
“Starscream?”  
  
“Yeah, him.” Dreadwing tilted his helm, optics wandering over Orion from helm to pede. “We don't share often. Or take grounders to berth. That makes you an exception. Twice.”  
  
“Thanks...?”  
  
Was that some sort of backhanded compliment?  
  
Dreadwing took the empty cube from him and rose from the berth. “Don't look so confused, Orion. It was an invitation. If you're so inclined.”  
  
Understanding dawned.  
  
Orion's engines revved.  
  
Next time, though, he'd decline the high grade.  
  
***


End file.
